


Devil's Love Song

by Arubi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Crush, BAMF Stiles, Blackmail, Bottom Derek Hale, Dark, Dark Stiles, Derek Feels, Drunk Sex, Drunk Stiles, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hale Family Feels, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Multi, Non Consensual, Older Stiles, Oral Sex, Sex Tape, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Video Cameras, younger Derek hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arubi/pseuds/Arubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles,” Kate later whispers, voice husky and seductive, but Stiles recognizes the threatening edge in it. “If you won’t take him, I will.”</p><p>That automatically alerts him, he swallows involuntarily and hates himself for it, that delicate gesture is all Kate needs to know he’s threatened. He knows Kate’s method, knows what she does, he flinches at the thought of Derek being under her hands, yet he doesn’t know if it’s from fear or something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is masochistic, definitely and utterly masochistic. A fic featuring Younger teenage Derek after the Hale fire and Senior Jock Stiles. Derek being the awkward dork crushing on Stiles and Stiles being an insensitive jerk who is in a gang with Scott, Jackson and the most characters we know (including Kate Argent). It is mostly porn with plot, because I promise that I will redeem Stiles sooner or later. Once I'm done with the crazy sex and torturing Derek.
> 
> Inspired by:
> 
> http://eeames.tumblr.com/tagged/tw+hs+au

__

* * *

_Stiles can see him writhing on the floor, sobbing, choking._

_The boy is bare and raw, his toned back is bruised and there’s dried cum smeared over it – where it was previously used. He’s crawled up in a foetal position, dark hair dishevelled with sweat and rough handling, eyes sore and red, skin dirty and shivering._

_Stiles’ own skin trembles at the sight in-front of him, they are in a large warehouse, now empty, and the boy is abandoned here like a used toy. Except that is exactly what he is._

_A used toy._

_That is what Stiles turned him into._

_Derek’s body is still flawlessly beautiful, even in such a state; his skin is smooth and fair and stretched neatly over his well-toned body, abs jutting out from years of training – probably just to please Stiles – clenching in and out as he tries to breathe and calm down from what he had gone through. He’s still slender, at such an age, but Stiles knows he’d fill up as years pass by, if he’s not too broken by then._

_The guests left first, and then Jackson took Isaac, the other boy, away; Scott left last, patting him on the shoulder, offering him a ride._

_He didn’t know how to tell them that he can’t do this. They usually just leave them in the warehouse, yet Isaac fell unconscious – and Stiles, Stiles couldn’t leave Derek lying there._

_It ripped his heart out, made it heavy with guilt he hadn’t foreseen – he knew that guilt was not part of the game. He already played others, driven them to the brink like he is doing with Derek right now, yet this time, it is different. Something is different. There are vines wrapping around his insides and constricting mercilessly the more he breaks Derek, as if by some cruel curse they are bound together and to destroy one will break the other._

_“Come on, I’ll take you to my place.” He strides forward and crouches down to level himself with Derek, who has grown still apart from the random spasms his body involuntarily spiked through. Stiles is aware of how cold the concrete ground is. He’s aware of how humid the whole place is, it’s already January, he feels cold under the black jacket he’s in, yet Derek is naked, broken and on the floor._

_Stiles takes off his Jacket and wraps it around him._

_“I- trus- ted you.” Derek says in between muffled sobs, sniffing and trying to hold back more tears._

_“I know.” Stiles sighs pathetically, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Truth is, he’s the devil, and Derek is his victim._

* * *

_***Months earlier*** _

Derek runs a hand through his hair, and then curses and quickly re-arranges it to stand spiked forward and jelled.

“I must stop doing that.” He says to no one in particular, turning sideways to check himself out in the mirror. He doesn’t look bad, maybe a little too thin – scrawny even – but he hasn’t been eating anything apart from cereal and noodles. He frowns when he looks down on the drawer underneath the mirror, there’s a picture of a younger Laura happily grinning with her dad in the backyard - probably his mother took that photo. Something inside of him twists and breaks; Laura hadn’t come in three days, the last time she was drunk and there were guys with her, forcing Derek to sleep on the coach. The apartment they own is stale and ugly, everything to the bare minimum – it can never be a house, or a home – just an apartment where they… survive. He still has to get the money from the insurance, but Laura… she changed.

Derek blinks and shakes himself, regaining composure. He learned, with ironic horror, that as long as he constantly makes sure not to think about his life for long enough, it’ll be bearable. To escape and drift into a land of his own and think about a happy life with all the things he desires. Sometimes people tell him to wake up, or to stop daydreaming – sometimes they shun him and tell him he’s wasting his life by being so distant and cutting everything and everyone off, maybe they’re right, but he’s just trying to survive as best as he can, why can’t they understand that?

How he wishes, though, that Laura was strong enough to pick everything up and take care of him. He’s lost.

Erica invited him to go to a bar downtown with her and a couple of friends she made. Erica was the closest to a best friend he has, they were both awkward and unpopular – always pining after the hot senior guys like Danny and Stiles, a little sad seeing as how Stiles barely knows he exist. Stiles is one of the school’s top jocks, the untouchable rich jerk, and son of the Sheriff – or so people dubbed him. He did offer Derek coffee the night of the fire when he was sitting in the police central, though.

He rarely goes to clubs, he’s a dork, but he doesn’t want to lose Erica. Erica changed completely after undergoing a surgery to treat her seizures, she became popular and she dressed… differently – to put it nicely. Derek knows she’ll soon stop talk to him, the apprehension twists around him brutally, but he accepts it. The broken things are left behind, and the fixed ones struggle on and catch up with the crowd.

****

Going to a club turns out to be absolutely terrible, first he spent five minutes hyperventilating about having a fake I.D, and then he realized with absolute horror that the air seems to be poisoned with alcohol and sweat and heat and now he’s about to spontaneously combust. People are looking at him, with eyes; eyes who scan him bottom to top way too blankly, it makes him fidget and uncomfortable. Erica is dancing with guys and girls alike while he is leaning to the bar drinking this god-awful thing they call Sambuca – although it is strangely becoming more and more easy to drink.

But the moment he realizes that burying himself underneath the ground is an excellent idea is when he notices Stiles and his gang including Jackson, who teased him constantly about his sister, and Scott, who caught him staring at Stiles once. Derek fidgets a little and looks forward at the cup, frowning at it like it personally offends him – which it does, by the way. His eyes betray him though, they roll and loom to where Stiles and the others sit around a small table at the back of the bar.

****

“What is the Hale kid doing here?” Jackson snorts.

Stiles’ eyes glance around before landing on a slender man leaning against the slab, his face is flushed with alcohol but otherwise he looks gorgeous, smooth fair skin bare under his half buttoned white shirt. Stiles never seen him in Chequers before, and then guesses the guy was dragged when he spots Erica grinning as she lap dances with Boyd.

“He looks like a fish out of water.” Allison remarks, grabbing a shot of tequila and downing it along with Lydia.

“Why don’t we pick him?” Jackson says.

“Come on. The boy is as fucked up as he can get, that’d be barbaric.” Stiles tries to protest.

“A broken guy is either the most dangerous person… or the most useful.” Kate grins and winks at him, devilish smile on her face.

“He’d be good.” Scott looks at Derek with interest, clearly intrigued.

“No.”

“Why not? I’d bet you can dig up some stuff about his sister…”

Stiles knows where this is going, he knows they are right… Derek would be perfect. Yet he feels somewhat hesitant, the boy looks so innocent – not that innocence ever stopped him before – and vulnerable… it makes him feel weird. Instinct tells him that he shouldn’t do it with him. He doesn’t know much about the Hales, but since the tragic event that involved the majority of them dying it was difficult not to know who they were. He vaguely remembers Derek in the police station, a sheet wrapped around him with his knees to his chest, sitting cocooned on a chair, shivering in jerks and spasms like he’s being constantly electrocuted. Maybe that was the reason he is so hesitant, that image of the boy.

It feels like he lives with a red narrow line, the way he deals with things isn’t made up of different shades; it is just one line which separates those who he would ruin without a second glance, and those who he’d give his life for – it was such a strange interjection, yet it was something beyond his control. He wore his insensitivity and impassiveness like a tight blanket offering warmth and protection, and only allowed a selected few to intrude inside his space and bask in his repressed compassion.

Derek was not one of them.

“I don’t want to do it.” Stiles states, and he hopes it’s final.

He vehemently wishes that Derek leaves as fast as possible, he’s a sitting duck and as Stiles downs more and more liquor his hesitance starts fading away and turns into intrigue and lust.

“Stiles,” Kate later whispers, voice husky and seductive, but Stiles recognizes the threatening edge in it. “If you won’t take him, I will.”

That automatically alerts him, he swallows involuntarily and hates himself for it, that delicate gesture is all Kate needs to know he’s threatened. He knows Kate’s method, knows what she does, he flinches at the thought of Derek being under her hands, yet he doesn’t know if it’s from fear or something else.

He downs the vodka, which is pink – Jackson said something about being mixed with strawberry – and stands up. He can smell the stench of alcohol on himself, and he feels a little tipsy, the sudden motion disorienting him a little. Jackson, Scott and the others stare at him, and Allison looks sad, her eyes glancing from Kate to him. In little subtle ways, Allison managed to perceive everything better than anyone.

If he chants _leave, leave, leave_ all the way – well, Kate can’t hear him.

A small sadistic part of him, sometimes maybe louder, chants _stay_ , and it feels like there’s a devil’s song playing in his head.

*

Derek is about to leave when he feels an arm on his shoulder. He jerks around to see Stiles with a thin sweet smile on his lips.

“Is it free here?” Stiles asks, and Derek briefly wonders just how drunk he must be to be seeing Stiles.

“Urm… Yes.” He nods, hands everywhere.

“Two vodka.” Stiles instructs to the barmaid, who nods with a knowing look. Derek feels his skin tingle.

“You’ve been here long?”

He wonders if he should tell Stiles that he was about to leave, but then doesn’t, fearing that would send the wrong message. “A while. I came with… urm Erica… and the others.” Even if he has no idea where they went.

“Erica is probably wasted,” Stiles laughs. “Don’t worry, so are my mates, Jackson is dead on his feet.”

Derek grins and giggles a little.

“Do you want to come at mine?” Stiles’ gaze falls on his, all intent clear, yet expression unreadable. Derek gulps.

He hyperventilates for a couple of seconds and opens his mouth and closes it again. “O-Okay.” He stammers. This is not happening. This is not happening. Oh God.

The Vodka arrives and Derek immediately downs in it in one go.

“Wow. Didn’t know you’re a heavy drinker.” Stiles huffs cheekily before drinking some of his own vodka.

“I’m not.” Derek admits, shit eating grin still stupidly plastered on his face.

*

Stiles’ tongue is sucking on Derek’s neck, slurping the skin beneath his ear and making him moan helplessly. He’s pinned to the wall and he slowly registers, in between pauses when his mind actually works, that he is in Stiles’ house, and they’re making their way upstairs – possibly to his bedroom.

He would scream a little if he wasn’t groaning and making embarrassing noises from the back of his throat. Stiles is pressed up against him, hot skin and muscles and fingers going _everywhere_. The smell of cinnamon and alcohol heavy on him stuns Derek. Stiles is all finesse and thorough, exploring Derek on his own, interrupted and doing his thing. Stiles moves up to his mouth, presses their lips together in a hot open mouthed peck and dives his tongue inside Derek’s mouth, tastes every corner of him before their tongues dance around each other, lithe and tactile. Derek momentarily feels embarrassed at his own inexperience with this compared to Stiles, it is obvious that he isn’t the only one to know what Stiles’ lips feel like – probably, if the rumours were true, many do.

It isn’t a pleasing thought, but it immediately drifts away and gets replaced by lust and haze the second he lets himself reciprocate and lets himself go.

Stiles’ fingers of one hand intertwine with Derek’s, the coldness of the wall contrasting the sweaty heat of Stiles’ flesh. The other hand is around his middle, pressing him close and tight. Stiles tears Derek’s shirt buttons open and begins lapping at his neck and licking at his pale neck, and then moves down to his collarbones. Derek moans hopelessly, cursing under his breath and feeling the rush of adrenaline through his body. He feels this light feathery feeling inside of him erasing the black bile that for so long settled inside of him and that only grew with his family’s absence; with Stiles every single nerve of his body is buzzing with delight and desire and it is almost too much.

Stiles pulled away, panting heavily. “Let’s go upstairs.” He takes off his own shirt, revealing sharp abs and a slender waist which make Derek drool a little, and stare at the naked flesh for too long and blush.

He knew Stiles was well toned, his baggy shirts didn’t do him justice, he remembers how sometimes Stiles would lift his shirt up during games or while chatting with his friends obliviously and Derek would take a peak, this, he concludes, is infinitely better.

The moment he steps inside Stiles’ room he feels a rush of awareness course through him, alertness regarding where exactly he is and what’s going to happen. He can feel his pulse raising, tension settling inside of him making him jittery and tense.

“Shh.” Stiles puts his arms around his middle, pulling him close and kissing his agitation away. He feels legless, his body turning to jelly as his breath is taken away by peck after peck. Derek puts his own hands around Stiles’ neck, who’s an inch or two taller, and allows himself to enjoy the soft velvety feeling of Stiles’ lips.

Stiles guides him onto the bed and strips him down completely, smirking mischievously before giving his hard throbbing cock a swift lick, making it bounce up and down onto his belly. He sinks down on it, swallows almost all as if he has no gag reflex. Derek isn’t small, a good seven inches and a half, when he feels Stiles lapping on his dick head with his tongue in rolls and swipes he loses it, seeing everything white.

Stiles swallows his climax completely, and when he moves to return the act, Stiles just gestures him to turn around.

The angle is perfect from here, Derek is on all fours on the bed. Smooth skin with shades of silver casted on it by the moon, the window is open bare and the air that breezes is cold against his skin, making him tremble slightly. The boy’s skin is fair, beautifully stretched out over solid muscles, slender and beautiful. He’s a little on the thin side, but perfect nonetheless. Stiles is rimming him from behind, tongue lapping at his hole and finger brushing just the outer layer, sometimes pushing in a little before pulling back out with loud pops. Stiles has a hand splayed out on Derek’s back, rubbing on a joint in his spine and making sweet smooth circles, the other jerking his cock in slow long strokes.

Derek is moaning and gritting his teeth helplessly.

“Fuck Stiles.”

“Moan for me Baby” Stiles says, a little lost in his own world as he pushes in the second finger and scissors Derek’s asshole open.

“Oh god. Ahh” Derek can’t stop, sinking back into Stiles’ finger erratically, loud groans coming out of his mouth on their own.

When Stiles enters the third finger, Derek lets out a loud gasp, stills for a little why until he can settle against the intrusion. It doesn’t take long before he can feel Stiles’ cock rubbing against between his cheeks, his ass is slick and heavy with lube and saliva and he feels his lower half hot and sweaty.

Stiles’ cock isn’t as wide as his own but longer and it feels like a spear as it penetrates him little by little, he feels his insides spread against the invasion. It’s a little painful, he has no control in this position, hands busy grasping the sheets to ground himself as Stiles controls the rhythm. Stiles stops midway, waits for Derek to settle down and once the pain subsides Derek nods. Stiles bottoms out in one swift thrust and Derek yells loudly, gasps breathlessly as his lungs contort, then Stiles settles down onto him, abs brushing against his back and the member inside him lowers down, putting heavy pressure on his prostate and blinding him into a delirious constant euphoria.

Stiles picks up the rhythm rapidly, and soon he’s ramming into Derek’s back and forcing open mouthed groans every time he bottoms out and brushes his prostate at a perfect angle. Stiles isn’t new to this, he knows all the exact movements and slants he needs to thrust in to hit the right nerves, to hit the prostate at its most sensitive spot. He has enough experience after-all.

*

Derek wakes up to a blinding light and an incredible soreness in his thighs and insides, even moving slightly makes his whole body ache. He wonders where Stiles is before he hears the shower running, he feels… strange. Like seeing everything from a completely new perspective, he feels dirty and a little disgusting, a sudden lump in his throat saddens him. He shrugs it off and glances around the room, there is a wardrobe on one side and a computer desk and cabinet on the other adjacent to a still bared window, there are books positioned around the room and photos of Stiles and Scott on the nightstand beside the bed, along with a photo of his father and a woman who must have been his mother. (He knows she died long ago, and the circumstances remained unclear even now.) There’s a camera, a laptop and a couple of files on the table desk, it feels like home, imprinted by Stiles’ mark, even the smell of pine and wood scent and cinnamon is as familiar as it can get.

He assumes this is the part where he should dress up, once he realizes where his clothes are, and talk to Stiles… he doesn’t know what it is, the idea that it was just a one night stands makes his insides coil, but he knows that’s what it probably is. There’s this fluttery hope inside of him that he fails to eliminate. Well… Maybe Stiles will offer him a shower, and maybe a ride, because he has no idea how he’s going to walk all the way without collapsing or taking the entire day.

Stiles walks out of the shower with a towel wrapped low around his hips, he’s agitated. A sudden sense of irritation and anger twisting inside of him at just everything. Particularly at Kate. Usually he’d kick anyone out of bed five seconds after he cums inside of them, but with Derek…. Fuck. Derek was amazing last night, pure bliss. It felt spectacular, and guilt wrecking… Stiles doesn’t want to think about the idea of others having their hands on him, he feels possessive… almost territorial, it’s weird, and he knows it has to stop.

“The clothes are in the wardrobe’s floor, and I called you a taxi, don’t worry I’m paying.” Something inside Stiles clenches at how Derek’s face suddenly falls, dejected. “O- Okay” Derek plasters a smile, but its edges are dismayed, forced.

“I’ll make a toast and some coffee, let’s go downstairs.”

*

School life is normal the next day. Derek feels like there are eyes onto him, little whispers – but it is all his imagination. He feels weird, as if inhabiting his own body for the first time, as if there’s a label on him everyone can see. He’s afraid. Not that he spent the last night in tears… he won’t think about that.

Well, he had his fun. It was mesmerising and amazing and a million other things. He wishes that it went better, that he was an exception for Stiles, but he settles down for the brute reality, at-least his dream land got just a little more real. In a destructively ironic way.

Erica questions him where he went, and he tries to dodge it until she deadpans that she saw him leaving with Stiles.

“Wait… You spent the whole night at him?!” She exclaims loudly, he shushes her up, hands everywhere and face flushed.

“…Yes…shh! So?” He mutters.

“Dude, no one sleeps at Stiles’, it must have been _really_ good.” She says cheekily, grin wide.

He splutters and fidgets a little before admitting it. “It was urm… yeah.” He manages.

“Oh god, now I’m jealous of you. I ended up with a random guy – okay he was hot, really hot, and huge.” She offers the information shamelessly. “And you ended up with our dream guy. Asshole.”

“Who was your guy?”

“Boyd.” She says dreamily.

“Okay give me the details? Is he big? Does he have good tricks? Does he last for-“ Erica is about to continue asking unhelpfully before Derek puts a hand up.

“Shut up! I’ll kill you!” He threatens uselessly.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes, and then lets them land on Derek again, wide and hungry. “Details.”

“He’s urr… The-rumours-are-true.” He says as quickly as possible.

“Oh my god. Oh God.” Erica squeaks in delight.

“Well… it didn’t mean anything…” He stabs his vegetables she bought him with the fork absently. “…Morning came and I was swept off.” He smiles grimly.

“But, he made you toast. And coffee, that clearly is a romantic notion.”

*

Three days pass, and things have been… strange.

Stiles’ friends are looking at him differently, at first he thought it was just because they knew; he even felt slightly happy Stiles wasn’t ashamed of telling them.

During class he tries to look at Stiles, sometimes, even if he feels like a total creep; however Stiles fidgets and turns around the moment their eyes meet. He thought that at-least Stiles would talk to him, at-least acknowledge him. Whatever.

When school finishes he bumps into Jackson.

“You moan like a bitch, Hale.” Jackson’s mocking grin slams his insides with a hammer when he says it, how does Jackson know what –

He ignores Jackson and continuous walking out of the hallway and runs to his bike, shocked. Stiles couldn’t have told his friends such things… He hopes not, a sense of trepidation and utter humiliation settles inside him and it doesn’t leave.

*

Friday morning he’s pulling out his files from the locker when he catches Danny staring at him, his expression is unreadable, but he looks as if he is… pitying Derek.

It’s after lunch break that it happens. Derek is surrounded by Jackson, Isaac and Kate, he stops in his way and looks at them with a raised eyebrow. He tries to be nonchalant, but he fails to repress a swallow.

“Derek, why don’t you come with us?” Kate says first, she’s standing between the two guys, a navy blue shirt, tight pants and high heels; she had to repeat the senior year for having trouble with the law, over what, Derek doesn’t know, all he knows is that her parents paid a shitload of money.

“Why?” He asks.

“Oh for the god’s sake, just come with us Hale.” Jackson rolls his eyes and he motions towards the living room, waiting for Derek to start moving before strolling ahead towards the locker room.

The area is empty, and when Isaac locks the door his insides clench.

Kate grabs a camera from her bag, and it looks vaguely familiar, Derek frowns.

“Just look at this.”

He is aghast and he trembles when it starts playing, he glances up to Kate and Jackson, and then down to the video again. He suddenly feels cold and sick, yet he cannot move, paralyzed completely.

Derek hears Jackson grinning and it brutally snaps his attention.

“H-how?” He asks dumbly. There’s him in the clip, naked, on his knees and hands as he moans, filled with lust, it is obvious there’s someone behind him, yet Stiles isn’t visible in the frame.

“Ohh, honey, the good part still has to come.”  Kate grabs the camera and forwards it to the point where Derek is being fucked from behind by Stiles, who is still out of frame except from his hips ramming into him, causing Derek to gasp loudly and groan. He knows what it looks like, he looks like a complete whore, being mounted by another man… Kate forwards it again to where Derek rides Stiles and cums for the second time, undone.

He heaves, struck completely dumb, just shivering in place as Kate takes the camera back.

“So here’s what’s going to happen if you want these videos to remain between us.”

**Author's Note:**

> It is unbeta'ed, hence all mistakes are mine, feel free to point out any you find.  
> Suggestions & Tips are more than welcome. Feed-back of any kind makes me squee and feel sappy with mushy feelings. Ideas of what should happen next are more than welcome (I have a plan in mind... Doesn't mean there shouldn't be occasions for meaningless sex.)
> 
> Pictures:
> 
> http://flutteringdominion.tumblr.com/post/47986912501/devils-love-song-a-teen-wolf-fanfic-dork


End file.
